


Murmur of Ground

by kerosene_eyes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerosene_eyes/pseuds/kerosene_eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke studies her thin, ochre raincoat, the deliberate set of her mouth, a foot balancing atop a jutting root. She doesn’t like how she’s so quickly disarmed by the mossy green of the girl’s cool gaze.</p>
<p>"I’m lost, but you don’t look like you are. Lost, that is," Clarke clarifies, probably unnecessarily. She ignores her nerves prickling under her skin. "Anyways, if you have a phone, I’d love to text my friends and let them know I’m still alive, but I don’t know the first thing about getting back to camp. Please, can you help me find them?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murmur of Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Son Lux's "Plan the Escape"

Clarke calls out to the forest with a tremulous, “Hello? Guys?” before slouching further over the tree stump currently doubling as her seat. The only responses are branches above her rustling in time with steady breezes and the thrum of insects buried in the trees around her. She picks at her stump's bark and manages to get even more dirt wedged under her fingernails. Sighs in dismay. Her watch tells her that it’s still late morning, that she’s only been wandering around the woods on her own for barely over an hour, but the technicalities of time had ceased to matter somewhere between getting lost and catching her cellphone’s battery life slip from 1% to a dark screen.

This mess wasn't what she had meant when she had mentioned how she "wants to get out more", and she's going to make sure that whoever suggested this camping trip understands how much this wasn’t what she was getting at. Nothing too quick or easy, Clarke's already decided. It’s only fair; eye for an eye, hour for hour. She’s maybe had too much time to think about it. 

Clarke wants to take solace in the fact that spring showers are still migrating through the West Coast, which means the heavy clouds racing over the mountain’s forest spare her from the brunt of the sun. It’s difficult to be too thankful though, when the tree trunk under her is still moist from last night’s rain shower, something she hadn’t realized until her pants were already damp, and the humidity of the ever-oncoming storm presses damply at her skin and makes her hair tangle at the crook of her neck. She's pretty sure that at this point, even her hair is sweating. She tries not to think about her discomfort as an annoyed growl slips from her lips. Somewhere behind her, a fallen branch snaps. Clarke whips around to scan the trees before calling out once more. “Bellamy? Monty?” A frustrated breath. “Fucking come on!”

Another twig splinters, then another and another, and out of the corner of her eye, Clarke sees stiff movement. Another hiker, this dense mirage of a girl, pads out from behind a cluster of trees, and Clarke scrambles to her feet. The girl looks at ease and more importantly, not at all lost, igniting a flicker of hope. 

“Can I help you?” Clarke demands. Shit. In her trepidation, her words come out all jumbled, far more belligerent than she intended. The other girl’s eyes narrow. As she makes to turn around and leave, Clarke’s pulse thuds. “Wait!”

The girl pauses. Clarke studies her thin, ochre raincoat, the deliberate set of her mouth, a foot balancing atop a jutting root. She doesn’t like how she’s so quickly disarmed by the mossy green of the girl’s cool gaze. 

"I’m lost, but you don’t look like you are. Lost, that is," Clarke clarifies, probably unnecessarily. She ignores her nerves prickling under her skin. "My friends left me behind when I didn’t want to climb up the side of some waterfall with them. I tried to take a side path and meet them at the top, but I must’ve taken too long. By the time I got there, they were already gone, probably to look for me.” Clarke realizes that if she had any sense, she would probably take the lack of faith in her friends as a sign. “Hopefully to look for me. Anyways, if you have a phone, I’d love to text them and let them know I’m still alive, but I don’t know the first thing about getting back to camp. Please, can you help me find them?” 

“Your friends sound like dicks,” the girl offers. 

"Yeah, they’re pretty terrible.” Clarke shrugs. “But right now they're the assholes with my pack and my ride home, so I’d rather find them sooner rather than later."

“And your phone?”

Clarke lets out a bark of laughter. “Really?” At the brunette’s head tilt, she rolls her eyes. “Out of batteries. And even when it wasn’t, I barely got any service out here.” While the exaggerated hand flourish to emphasize the last few words might have been a bit much, irritation has begun to spread thick and warm throughout her chest and she can’t help herself. 

The girl turns back and leans against a tree trunk. She’s remained placid throughout Clarke’s outbursts, and Clarke swallows down a sudden burst of shame. She had decided long ago to stop apologizing for herself if she wasn’t really, truly sorry. 

The other girl tugs at the edge of her lower lip with sharp teeth. After a couple of agonizing minutes, she finally asks, “Where do you need to go?”

“We made camp at Lot 4. We’re leaving tomorrow after breakfast. It’s just supposed to be a weekend thing. Get away from the city for a breath of fresh air before diving back in and all that, you know?” Clarke forces herself to stop rambling before the hiker decides she’s done indulging this rude disoriented girl and walks away for real.

"I’m impressed, you managed to follow exactly all the wrong trails for where you’re trying to go. What's your name?"

Clarke tries not to sigh, tries very hard to ignore the headache unraveling her patience. “Clarke. And you?” 

“Lexa.”

But Lexa doesn’t say anything else, merely furrows her eyebrows and expels a breath as she lifts her face to the treetops. 

Clarke finally gives into the desperation gnawing at her sense of propriety. “Look, I’ve been wandering around on my own for an hour now and really need to get back. So no pressure, but I need to know if you’ll help me or if you could even just point me in the right direction, maybe.” 

Lexa lifts an eyebrow before pushing off from where she leans against the tree. “Of course I’ll help you. I just needed to double-check our location, thought maybe we could know each other's names before we began the trek. I’m sorry if you believed otherwise.”

“Oh.” Clarke grimaces. “Shit, that was really terrible of me. I promise there's a pleasant person somewhere under this grime.” Nervous words crowd her mouth and she swallows.

Lexa seems unconvinced but charitably just shrugs. “I can’t take you directly to Lot 14 but I can bring you to a path that will take you the rest of the way. Even a child would be able to find their way back from there.”

Clarke squints. It’s impossible to tell if Lexa’s making a joke at her expense. “I’ll take it.” 

“Grab your things. We’ll be heading this way.” Lexa begins to walk in the exact opposite direction that Clarke had been considering before she’d shown up, the peak of the mountain rising above the treetops to their left. Clarke would laugh at herself, if she had the energy. All she can manage in her boneless relief is an eyeroll at herself.

"Wait," Clarke begins.

Lexa stops mid-stride to swing her pack around to her front. "Right. Here. You shouldn't have a problem texting your friends with my phone."

She shoots off a _“It’s Clarke. I think I’m fine. Keep your phone on you, I’ll update when I’m closer to camp”_ text to Monty’s number, the only one of her friends’ number she’s managed to memorize, and immediately the phone buzzes with his response. 

It’s a brief _“Where the hell are you??”_

She glances at Lexa, who lifts an eyebrow back. _“A kind (I think???) stranger found me. She’s taking me back part of the way.”_

_“Okay. We’re heading back to camp, we thought you ditched us and head back. Stay safe, Clarke.”_

After Clarke hands the phone back, Lexa puts it back in her backpack and without another word they're again on their way.

Clarke racks her brain for conversation topics as they make their way through the trees, the path just wide enough for them to walk side by side. Lexa, in the meantime, just takes deep breaths in time with her steady strides and seems to share none of her apprehensions. Unable to think of a topic that doesn’t sound completely inane, Clarke resigns herself to a quiet trek.

Clarke’s panic dims as they get further and further from where Lexa found her, the forest taking on a more agreeable quality to the view of Lexa slipping past the pine trees and redwoods. The confidence defining the straight line of Lexa’s back proves contagious and Clarke finds she doesn’t mind the grit that smudges her face as they walk against the wind or the whispers of branches creaking in the damp air as much. 

“How are you so familiar with these woods?” Clarke finally asks, unable to keep her curiosity in check after the third time Lexa diverts them from their current path to another without any hesitation.

“I grew up in the area.” Lexa waves vaguely at the trees around her.

Her parched throat working, Clarke wonders if Lexa has any water to share. She’d finished hers during the two hour hike to reach the waterfall before getting ditched. 

“That sounds nice.” The brunette nods, Clarke waits. Lexa doesn’t continue and Clarke begins to understand that maybe it’s nothing personal. “So where do you live now?” Off Lexa’s look, Clarke explains, “You used past tense.”

A shrug, another check to the mountain that’s now at their backs. “Farther away. Lucky for you, I’m back at my old home while I finish my novel.” 

That doesn’t quite answer Clarke’s question, but she lets it go. “You’re a writer?”

Lexa nods. “I’ve published a book of short stories, and I’m in the process of trying to publish a novel.”

“Ah yes, the neverending grind of an artist.” At the statement, Clarke stretches her arms above her head and tries not to flush when she feels Lexa's interested gaze on her. 

“You are also a writer?”

“Right now I’m not very much of anything. A grad student, maybe. A multi-media artist, if I’m feeling brave,” Clarke admits, suddenly feeling hesitant. She doesn’t often feel so brave but Lexa’s questions make her want to prove herself.

“Is that what you’re studying at college?”

“Nah, dual in art history and cultural studies. I’d love to get hired as an art technologist after school, but I won’t say I’ve never daydreamed of making a living as a good old-fashioned painter.”

“What’s to say you can’t be both?”

Clarke nods slowly. “I suppose.” It isn’t anything she hasn’t considered and dismissed already, but hearing it voiced by Lexa makes her wonder if maybe she should reconsider it...again. She swallows. “Do you have any water? I’d honestly trade in all of the dumb friends that made me come to this forest for a chance at something to wet my throat.”

Lexa snorts. 

They stop in a little clearing to give Lexa the chance to burrow through her pack for her water bottle. Clarke folds into herself and breathes in the dappled sunlight that’s managed to reach them, however briefly. Gentle aches litter Clarke’s body from trying to keep up with Lexa, not that she’s out of shape, but between Lexa’s pace and making sure she doesn’t trip over an exposed root and faceplant, Clarke considers reinstituting a morning workout. As they share Lexa’s water bottle, Lexa brings out her phone and lets Clarke check in with Monty again.

“Your boyfriend?” Lexa asks.

“My boyf... oh no,” Clarke laughs. “Monty is a pearl among diamonds in the rough-”

“That doesn’t sound like the right saying.”

“-And I’d be lucky to have him, but he's spoken for. We met sophomore year in chem class and if it weren’t for him, I probably would have failed Chemistry. Again.” The back of Clarke’s neck heats up and she grins through her embarrassment.

“Again?” Lexa lifts an eyebrow.

“Aaanyways, that’s not important,” Clarke continues, “he made me memorize his number the day he found out I’d driven home drunk after a party. He told me that if he ever found out I did that again, he’d report me to the police for underage drinking himself cause he’d rather have me locked up than on the road a danger to myself and others.” She shrugs. “So now when I need a ride, I have his phone number burned into my brain even when I can barely remember my own address.”

“I like his style.” Lexa’s sharp little grin, when it blooms, makes Clarke shiver. She’s not sure when this developed, but the hot pulse under her skin insists that maybe it’s been in the works for a little while now.

“Well now, that’s something. I might not know much else about you because let’s be honest, you’re about as communicative as a brick wall and I'm still operating on blind faith that you're not planning to violently murder me, but at least now I know you have good taste in people.”

The slight curl lingering on Lexa’s lips tempers her eyeroll. “We should get going, we still have a few hours of hiking left.”

"Ay ay, Captain."

"Put your hand down, you look ridiculous."

Clarke obliges.

"And don't worry, if I wanted to kill you, I would've done so by now and dumped your body in any one of the seven abandoned mine shafts we've passed." Lexa winks. Something about this girl’s halting friendliness makes Clarke want to indulge her impulse to pry.

This time when they begin their walk, Clarke has no qualms asking those inane questions as they come to mind. Lexa ponders each inquiry with a quiet intensity, and Clarke panics during each hesitation that they’ve finally reached the limit of Lexa’s willingness to entertain her. Before long, conversation spills from eager lips, their stories framed by animated hands. 

Lexa talks about her family, how they are now scattered across the States and despite her best efforts, Lexa usually only manages to see each of them once or twice a year. She confesses a time when her courage failed her and let her best friend, Raven, take the blame for her mistake. Clarke describes how she and her adoptive siblings collectively decided to attend colleges in the same state, what it was like for the three of them to mediate her parents’ divorce when they were in undergrad. She goes on a tirade about the arts’ shrinking budgets in schools before trailing off with a breathless huff when she realizes Lexa’s been making sounds of agreement while leveling an amused look at her the entire time. They each figure out in different points of the conversation that they’ve both lost loved ones relatively recently, and when Clarke notes it, they share a moment feeling vaguely guilty that they’d let it slip their minds, however momentarily.  


By the time they’re taking their third water break, Clarke has figured out exactly which topics make Lexa the most flustered and indignant. 

“I can’t believe you’re trying to convince me, a writer, that the film adaptation is better than the novel.”

“If you let yourself stop measuring the film’s quality by its faithfulness to the book, you’d see that as independent efforts, the film is obviously a more enjoyable experience.”

Lexa’s eyes narrow. “It’s an empirical fact that the movie is never better than the book!”

“Oh please,” Clarke scoffs. “Bourne Identity might have had gumption as a book, but as a movie, it’s unrivaled."

"Gumption?"

"Oh whatever Lexa, let's not pretend you weren’t trying to explain French psychoanalysis to me like four minutes ago," Clarke says with a grin.

“What’s wrong with psychoanalysis?”

“I mean, nothing I guess, if you’re a pedantic know-it-all.” Clarke wrinkles her nose after a sniff of something especially earthy. "God, what's that smell?"

"Well actually," Lexa replies, "if you're down for a quick detour, I could show you."

"Wait, have you been holding out on me? It's almost like we only met a couple hours ago,” Clarke gasps in faux outrage.

"No need for such dramatics, I just wasn't sure how urgently you needed to get back. But if you have some time..." Lexa trails off, biting her lip and shyly hopeful.

Clarke should get back. She needs to finish packing, needs to make sure Octavia has finished packing, needs to double-check that they’re ready for the drive back tomorrow. “Yeah, sure, Lexa. As much time as you need.”


End file.
